


With Pride

by LeighKelly



Series: NYU!verse [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4804868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeighKelly/pseuds/LeighKelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after getting married, at their first NYC Pride Parade, Santana surprises Brittany by wearing a certain shirt that she's kept all of these years. Written for the Brittanacon Prompt Project.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Pride

June is cool in New York City, unseasonably so, and Santana and Brittany are both thrilled to have some time after their sixth semester at NYU ends, and before the sweltering concrete trapped heat begins. They use the time for them. For city parks, for the Bronx Zoo, for day trips up the Hudson Valley, for a weekend trip to Long Island. And for what Brittany is most excited about, the event that they'd missed due to other commitments during their first two Junes together in the city. For the Pride March, and the myriad events that surround it.

Brittany is beside herself with excitement about it. She creates a handwritten list of the absolute  _must participate ins_ , sticking it to the refrigerator _._ Santana, she's...less so. She appreciates that it exists, she respects it, and she's grateful for it, really. But it's just not really her  _thing,_ if she's being honest. For someone who'd once declared- albeit, in private- that she was going to live in a lesbian colony, her time in a city that accepts her, that accepts her legal marriage to the love of her life, has sort of negated her need to find a niche. Because she doesn't fit a mold, and that's...sort of the the point, for her. She's a lesbian, she's lucky, so lucky, to be married to Brittany, she knows, but she's also so much more than that. And that "community" she sought, of people like her, she's found it with other queer people, sure, but she's also found it with other performers, with other Hispanic people, with other transplants to the city from the middle of nowhere. She doesn't find herself fully identifying with a singular aspect of herself, even one that plagued her for so long, and  _that_ , that's something she's really proud of.

But Brittany wants to go. She tells Santana it will be a great experience for them to have together. She tells her it's something she'll want to tell their kids about- and to take them, too, somewhere in the future, when they're finished with school, when they have real jobs, when they live in an apartment that doesn't have a bed against one wall and a toilet against another- okay, that's exaggerating, but only slightly. Santana isn't opposed to going, she's really not, though she wouldn't choose to go herself. And it's something that will make her wife happy,  _really_ happy, since she's been looking at rainbow glitter and funny t-shirts online. It'll make Brittany happy, and that, in turn, makes  _Santana_ happy, so she'll be damned of she doesn't go all out for this parade.

It's the morning of. They'd gone to see  _The Wizard Of Oz_ down at the pier last night. It was one of the LGBTQ family events that Brittany had her heart set on, and (though Brittany had to  _swear_ up and down that she would  _never_ tell Kurt and Rachel,  _especially_ Kurt) Santana would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy singing along to every one of those Judy Garland songs, and  _maybe_ she'd even worn a pair of bright red shoes with her jean shorts and tank top. And  _maybe_ she'd also felt her stomach flip, seeing all of the kids, sprawled out on blankets eating popcorn, with their two moms, or their two dads.  _Maybe_ she sort of got the point, of who she was, of how she lived, existing outside of heteronormativity. You know, especially for her totally hypothetical, years away fictional children. The ones she'd have with the woman who's legs she'd sat between, and who'd fed her popcorn and shared her giant strawberry shake. From the bathroom where she's getting ready, giving Brittany the vanity space in the bedroom to put on her glitter tattoos and braid ribbons into her hair, Santana is broken from her thoughts, when she hears her wife belting out _We're Off to See the Wizard._ She smiles, no, grins, really, is a better word, because she loves that woman, she loves that woman with absolutely all of her heart, and her excitement for the parade, it's infectious.

Going all out for Santana, it might not have included all the tattoos and ribbons that Brittany was partial to- though she  _did_ let Brittany put on her glitter eyeliner, and leave a bright pink glittery kiss mark on her cheek, one that she'd decided not to rub off, since really, what's more gay than her wife's lipstick on her cheek? Well, besides, probably, her lipstick marks on the inside of her thighs. Not that Santana knew anything about that. Not at all. But that's beside the point. No, going all out, for Santana Lopez-Pierce meant making this collective celebration of sexuality something personal for her, something personal for  _them._  In an effort to accomplish that, she knew there was one thing she needed, one thing she had to call her mom to send to her, and when her padded envelope had arrived on Friday afternoon, a black lettered white t-shirt carefully folded inside, she felt an intense fluttering inside of her heart.

It's rare that she keeps secrets from Brittany, non-existent, almost, but her attire for the parade, she's keeping it heavily under wraps. It's not a big deal, Santana doesn't think. Not really. But she knows that Brittany loves surprises, and she knows, Brittany is sentimental, like she is. Brittany will appreciate this tiny little thing, a shirt that she'd handed her in a crowded hallway, seven years ago. A shirt that expressed more hopefulness, more love, more acceptance than a seventeen year old girl, trapped in her terrifying closet, could ever understand. A shirt that she'd kept, for all this time, because it meant more to Santana, perhaps, than Brittany could ever know. Slipping into the shirt, careful to keep her makeup from getting on it, Santana feels like she's slipping into a comfortable embrace, she feels like she's claiming a skin that once felt wrong, felt dangerous, and now, now feels like the rightest thing in all the world. In the mirror, she admires herself, in the mirror, she gets butterflies, as it reflects back the word, back the Brittanyism,  _Lebanese._

"Santana, are you ready to go? We've got less than an hour until they close off Fifth Avenue, and we're supposed to meet everyone else on the other side."

"Thirty seconds, babe." She calls back through the door, though Brittany knows her well, Brittany knows to  _at least_ double the time she says she needs. "I'm almost ready."

Taking one last approving look at herself in the bathroom mirror, Santana grabs the flannel shirt she'd thrown over the towel bar. She pushes her t-shirt up, and she slips the tight flannel on, leaving the bottom buttons open, and rolling up the sleeves. She's glad for the weather, really, she's glad it's sixty-four degrees, because it lets her hide her shirt, it let's her keep her surprise to herself, just for a little bit longer. Once she's in her heels- because even in flannel and cutoff shorts, Santana wears them- she opens the door, and there's Brittany, an eyebrow raised, trying to wait  _patiently_ for her wife.

"Baby, you look awesome." Brittany grins, then she kisses Santana's other cheek, lingering a little, leaving another lipstick mark. "Really super awesome. You know how hot I think you look in flannel."

"Why do you think I wore it?" A smirk creeps across Santana's face. "Think you can manage to keep your hands off of me?"

"No, I absolutely do not. And I don't plan on it either, sexy lady."

"You're one to talk." She snickers, kissing Brittany, nipping at her bottom lip.

When she steps back, she looks Brittany up and down again. It's one of those things Santana never fails to wonder, how this woman could look so deliciously sexy and so over the top adorable, all at the same time. Her shredded jeans sit low on her hips, tight to her skin, showing off those gorgeous legs of hers. She wears a baggy white tank top, emblazoned with a pink, blue and purple bisexual unicorn, and the words  _I'm Not Gay, But My Wife Is-_ something that she'd checked about twelve times if Santana was comfortable with, before she bought. Coupled with the glitter, the ribbons, the tattoos, the rainbow bra that Santana is nearly entirely sure she can see peeking out from under Brittany's shirt, she looks absolutely perfect. So perfect, that Santana really couldn't care less about the people they're supposed to meet. She just needs a minute to kiss her gorgeous wife, she just needs a minute to feel more of Brittany's excitement, vibrating on her lips, on her tongue, through the hands that snake up under Santana's flannel shirt.

Brittany breaks them apart, and it's a good thing, Santana thinks, because she had been about ten seconds from ripping her wife's shirt off, and confirming her theory about the bra beneath it. But she doesn't want to do that. Well, she does, but, she also really doesn't want Brittany to miss the parade, and if she's telling the truth to herself,  _she_ doesn't want to miss it either. Brittany, with her glitter and rainbows, has her entirely too excited about something she couldn't have cared less about otherwise. And with that shirt that she can't wait to show Brittany, hidden, with the exception of the white collar, completely beneath her button down, she feels a little bit like she might burst with anticipation. She might not feel much of an urge to march and express solidarity with people that with the exception of one small thing, she might be vastly different from, but she  _is_ proud to be legally married to Brittany, she  _is_ proud of the woman she's become from the girl that she was, and really, she thinks maybe that's just as important.

Twisting her fingers with Brittany's, Santana feels a fluttering in her stomach as they leave the apartment. She's a little- nervous, maybe? She's not sure. She just feels full of something she can't quite identify. In the sunshine, Brittany, in all her glitter, seems to sparkle, and for some reason, Santana's first Pride is beginning to feel like a big deal. Like she and Brittany, stupidly in love, stopping to kiss and laugh as the walk into the heart of the Village are starting to blend in among the other revelers. Like, although she's been comfortable with herself for a long time, she has the  _right_ to be more affectionate with her wife. Something she hadn't realized she'd actually been seeking. Something that makes her feel better than she ever could have imagined.

"Brittana!" Their friend Ramona, calls out through the crowd, once they reach Eleventh Street. Santana rolls her eyes, claiming that she  _hates_ that people call them that, but really, her eyes sparkle, just like Brittany's do, really, she doesn't mind being grouped together with Brittany, not one bit. "Get your sweet little asses over here!"

"Nothing little about my ass!" Santana calls back, laughing, tugging Brittany's hand.

"She doesn't know, San." Brittany presses her lips to Santana's ear. "She doesn't get to check it out all the time."

"I love you." She giggles, really truly giggles, just because Brittany is Brittany.

"Well I'd hope so." All of Brittany's teeth show in her grin, but then her smile softens, then she touches Santana's face, and she kisses her softly, so softly, all the excitement aside, just them. "But I love you too."

Kendall, Ramona's girlfriend whistles through her teeth, and Santana glares at her, before wrapping her arm up with Brittany's and joining the group. Ramona and Kendall know a  _lot_ of people, most of whom Brittany and Santana have only met in passing, but they're gracious when someone hands them red cups of beer from a cooler. Santana has two, before the parade even starts, and given how quick she downed them, she's already starting to feel a little buzzed. Her former weepy hysteria, she's glad she'd toned that down in the years since high school, she's glad that she's, at worst, a little clingy to Brittany, but mostly a really good time to be around. She's laughing, laughing, shooting snarky comments at Ramona, who teases about her flannel. She's kissing Brittany, pulling her close, rubbing her nose with her wife's, mumbling something about body shots, later, and really, having a far better time than she'd thought she would. Brittany takes pictures of them, she puts them on her Instagram, hashtagging them, as she always does,  _loveofmylife,_ and Santana's happy, so happy that she thinks maybe she's drunk on  _that,_ far more than on the beer she's drank.

They're toward the end of the parade route, not far from Stonewall, so they have a lot of time just to enjoy the company, just to spend the day with people like them. When they hear the music getting closer, that's when Santana decides it's time to show Brittany her surprise. Though they're in a public place, Santana is still mostly private, especially when it comes to emotional things. She glances around, seeing that their friends are otherwise occupied, Kendall talking to someone from the HRC, Ramona, pouring more beer, and she pulls Brittany close to her again, she looks in those deep blue eyes that she loves so much.

"Are you okay, honey?" Brittany asks, concerned, and Santana feels a swell of love for her wife, her amazing, amazing wife, who always keeps her well being in mind.

"Perfect." Santana nods, her dimples showing, her eyes bright. "I'm really glad we came, I'm having a great time."

"You are?" Excited, Brittany bounces on her toes, taking both of Santana's hands. "Good, I'm glad. Thank you, for coming here with me."

"Thank you for suggesting it, Britt. Really." Looking down sheepishly, Santana plays with the buttons on her shirt, and Brittany's eyes widen.

"I'm not going to strip, don't worry, that's  _your_ M.O., babe."

"I'll have you know, I haven't stripped in a public place since we almost got arrested that time in Greece." She sucks her teeth, though she blushes a little. "I save my stripping for  _one_ person, and I know you  _love_ when I strip for you at home."

"That's true, I do. Never stop doing that."

"Even when we're eighty years old and I wear granny panties?"

"Yes, even then. I'll  _still_ think you're the sexiest lady alive."

"Impossible." Brittany tucks a lock of hair behind Santana's ear, the whole world around them, the noise, the people, melting away, as it does sometimes, when they're getting sentimental. "You've seen yourself, right?"

"Once or twice." She winks, then starts working the buttons, hands trembling, just a little bit, with the strangest case of nerves. When she gets to the last one, Santana opens her shirt, she opens it in a way that the girl Brittany once gave it to couldn't do. She opens in with pride. Pride in herself, in her wife, in the life they're building. She doesn't tear her eyes away from Brittany's face, not as she looks down, a gasp escaping her lips, not as she looks back up, into Santana's eyes, her own full of tears, her face full of love.

"Santana." Brittany traces her fingers over each of the letters, a sort of disbelief evident in her gentle touch. "You kept it."

"I did. I used to- I used to sleep with it under my pillow, when we were broken up, and then when we went away, and I sent all my stuff back to Lima, I left it there, because I had  _you,_ so I didn't really need the memory of when you believed in me when couldn't believe in myself. But then, I don't know, when we decided to come here, I was looking at the shirts on all those websites you sent me, and, I just couldn't stop thinking that there was only one shirt I wanted to wear. So I called my mom, and she sent it to me."

"Santana Lopez-Pierce, you are really-" Brittany stops in the middle of her sentence. She stops, and she just kisses Santana hard. She pours all her love into her wife through a single kiss, and when she pulls back, Santana is breathless. "Seeing you in this shirt. Wow."

"Wearing this shirt is kind of wow too." She confesses. "But, I think that I might owe you a dance, a few years too late."

"And I think I'll collect on that." The glittery tears keep falling from Brittany's eyes, and she quickly wipes them away. "Come here."

"Happy to."

Santana steps into Brittany's arms, she puts her arms around her neck, and they just stay like that, until the music gets even closer, until it's coursing though their veins, and even crammed in with thousands upon thousands of other people, they dance, Lebanese shirt and rainbow ribbons. They dance, all through the parade, hands clasped, hips wiggling, and kisses, more kisses. They dance, and Santana gets it, why Brittany had wanted to come, truly she does. She gets it, being here with her wife. She gets it, watching the people pass who'd made it possible for her to be with the one she loved in public. She gets it, watching groups of children with their parents pass, tiny rainbow flags waving, the future, the bright future before them. She gets it, in all the love and acceptance around her. She gets it, being among this group of people that only decades ago, couldn't have gathered like this. She gets it, because it's just like what Brittany had been trying to make her see, they day she'd given her the t-shirt, that this sense of pride, it lies deep within her, and though she'd had to fight hard to bring it to the surface, dancing with her wife, where everyone can see, it was worth every hour it took.

* * *

 


End file.
